Catharsis
by Origamidragons
Summary: In which John Winchester comes back from the dead only to find his sons are fraternizing with something claiming to be an angel, Sam might be psychic, and he apparently missed quite a lot.
1. Chapter 1

When John Winchester finally managed to pry his eyes open, his head pounding like that damned demon had ripped it apart piece by piece, he noticed several things all at once.

The first was that he was tied to a chair. He gave an experimental wriggle, but the knots held fast. Almost like something Dean would have done- the kid was a fucking Boy Scout when it came to knots.

The second was that there was blood seeping through a bandage on his arm, and his shirt was wet with water and something that smelled like drain cleaner. There was a devil's trap carved into the floor under his feet, and he almost sagged with relief. Hunters, then. He could deal with hunters.

The third was there were two very familiar men staring at him with unreadable expressions. One was about average height, the other taller. Both possessed the worn and beaten look that John often saw in hunters too long on the road without enough victories to make up for the losses, and both held themselves, seemingly unconsciously, in a tense and ready stance. The taller was toying with the hilt of what appeared to be a knife on his belt, but looked up when the shorter nudged him to attention.

"He's awake."

John stilled. The kid was good. He hadn't so much as breathed loudly since becoming conscious, but evidently he'd still given himself away. He glanced up and blinked a few times, trying to appear as confused as he felt, but neither appeared impressed. The shorter got down on his haunches so he was eye-level with John.

"What are you?" he demanded, voice surprisingly cold. John was taken aback, but answered the question honestly. The tall one looked a bit too eager to use that knife.

"Human. Hunter, like you. Name's John Winchester."

"No," the tall one with the long hair said, speaking for the first time and damn if that voice wasn't familiar. Much deeper, of course, and flat and matter-of-fact instead of overly emotional, but he sounded like Sammy. "John Winchester," he said slowly, "is dead. He's been dead for going on nine years."

The shorter one nodded in agreement. "Exactly. I mean, I know Winchesters have a bad habit of not staying dead-" was he talking about the deal he made to save Dean? Was that common knowledge now? Or was that some sort of a veiled threat toward his boys? "-but he's dead. I think we'd know if he wasn't. So. What are you and how did you get in here? Who sent you? Crowley?"

Clearly these two had mistaken him for someone else. Everything got a bit hazy after making the deal with Yellow-Eyes and then whispering his final warning into Dean's ear (he was fairly certain there had been a lot of pain) but he hadn't died. He'd know if he had.

"I told you," he bit out. "My name is John Winchester. My wife was named Mary. I have two sons-"

"Three," the tall quiet one said from the back of the room (dungeon, he noted, taking in the engraved chains and wall of weapons for the first time).

His eyebrows reached his hairline. "What?"

"Adam Milligan ring any bells? Wow, you really did not do your research, did you?" the shorter one picked up again, his easy smile vaguely threatening, twirling what looked like a short four-sided sword between his fingers. John had no idea where he had produced it from. But more importantly, how did they know about Adam?

"How do you know about Adam?" he snarled, or tried to. The short one looked utterly unimpressed.

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because he's my son. I need to know if he's in danger."

The shorter one's lips twitched up in something that might have been amusement, and the tall one, who John had all but forgotten during his interrogation, suddenly snorted with skeptical laughter. "Yeah. Sure. We all know how good you are about not endangering your sons, John," he said, placing heavy sarcastic emphasis on his name as though to drive home that he didn't believe it was really his. It was the most words he'd heard the tall one speak since waking up.

But more worrisome, when on Earth had his life become hunter gossip? He didn't even interact with the community except when necessary. Sure, he'd hung around the Roadhouse a few times, but that was all. Who were these mystery hunters to tie him up and judge his parenting?

"What are you even talking about?"

The short one just shook his head, and when he did something familiar and bronze glinted around his neck. An amulet. One he'd seen a thousand times before, and all of a sudden all he could do was stare, at Dean, his boy, which mean the tall one with the long hair was Sam, had to be.

"Dean?" he asked hesitantly, and for a second he thought he saw something flash across his son's face before it hardened again. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam and they seemed to share a silent conversation before both rose as one and make for the door, which he noticed now seemed to just be a gap between two file cabinets.

"Sam?" he tried, and was rewarded with a shudder that ran across his younger son's shoulders, but he didn't turn around. Dean seemed to notice the involuntary action and wrapped his arm around his brother's shoulders. At least Dean was still looking after his brother.

"Let me go, boys. That's an order!"

The file cabinets slid together with a crash and then John was alone, but he could still hear the voices fading in the distance and damn it, how had he not recognized them as his sons? The voices were deeper, yes, and rougher with emotion and years, but unmistakably theirs.

"...on his way, he'll help us find out for sure... not a demon?" That was Dean, talking in the same hushed and reassuring tones he'd use when Sammy woke up from a nightmare.

"I'm sure... sense it. ...is it then? ...just like him. Dean, could it..."

Then the voices were out of range and the lights flipped off, plunging him into darkness.

He wasn't sure how long he sat in the pitch-black dungeon, hearing only faint echoes as the boys went about their lives, and wondered when he had become such a ghost to them that they would just leave him here and go about more important things. His reasoning told him it couldn't have been that long, because he didn't feel hungry or anything, but he felt like it might have been forever before finally, the lights flicked on, stunning his eyes, and a moment later the door creaked open.

Sam and Dean walked in with a third man in tow, who looked rather plain, like an accountant or something, but John could almost sense the waves of power coming off of him and as the unnaturally blue eyes bored into him he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"This is Castiel," Dean said by way of introduction. Sam had reclaimed his post leaning against the back wall, and John wondered why his younger son didn't seem to want to be near him. "He's going to find out if you are who you say you are."

He noticed for the first time that 'Castiel' (and what sort of a name was that?) was holding a belt loosely, and for a moment entertained the notion that he was going to be whipped before his son forced his mouth open and slid the leather between his teeth.

"This is going to hurt," Castiel spoke for the first time, rolling up his sleeves and sounding like he'd been gargling gravel, and that was all the warning he got before the man's (definitely not a man) hand shoved into his chest with a flashing light and a searing, burning, agonizing pain. He tried not to scream, but he shook from head to toe and a groan worked its way through the belt.

And just like that, it was over. Sam and Dean looked apprehensive, and Castiel looked stunned. "It's him," he intoned in that gravelly voice.

"What do you mean, it's him? It's who?"

"It's John Winchester. This man is your father."

Both boys looked like they'd been slapped. John thought they'd be happier.

"How?" was all Dean said, and the thing just shook its head.

"I... don't know. After being dead for so long... I'm not sure what would have the power to return a human from heaven, especially without a body for it to return to and especially when the soul should by rights belong to hell... I'm sorry, Dean, I'll look into it."

"Alright, thanks Cas. Good luck."

Then there was a sound like fluttering wings and Castiel vanished, and John thought his eyes might have popped out of their sockets. True teleportation... only very powerful demons could do that without being summoned. His sons were working with a demon, and not just any demon, maybe one of the most powerful alive. Must have been Sam's idea, with the demon taint running through his veins, and he must have corrupted Dean. He should have known Dean couldn't kill his brother, even under direct orders from his father. Should've killed the boy himself. Things had clearly fallen apart without him, but now he was back it was time for him to set things right, and that would start with his boys remembering their blasted respect.

Both of his sons stared at him for moment before Dean silently moved forward and sliced through the ropes with a flick of a knife, before returning to his brother's side and watching as John rubbed some of the circulation back into his wrists.

"Dad?" his older son finally asked, his voice breaking a little, and when John nodded Dean grabbed him in a hug. It took him a moment to realize his shoulder was wet- Dean was crying.

It took him a moment longer to realize that Sam had remained by the wall. Dean seemed to notice all of a sudden too, and beaconed his brother forwards. "Co'mere, Sammy. He won't bite."

Sam looked more than slightly disbelieving of that fact, but shyly slid forward and joined the huddle and for a moment, before he could think of anything else, John could almost think they were a family again.

The boys were on one side of the table, having a hurried conversation, apparently arguing about where to start some story. John just wanted to know why they had a demon helping him, and he intended to ask so, in a decidedly drill-sergeant fashion, right after he was caught up on what had happened after he was... gone. He refused to say dead. The boys had gotten lax in his absence, that much was painfully clear.

"...guess we should start with Cold Oak," Dean said reluctantly, and Sam frowned but didn't argue the point, and then both the boys turned back towards him.

"What did you know about Azazel and his special children?" Sam asked, his voice flat.

Azazel. Yellow Eyes?

"Yellow Eyes? I know he contaminated them with demon blood-" and Sam flinched backwards at the word 'contaminated' "-he was building an army."

Sam was slowly shaking his head, his shoulders trembling. "You knew," he said, softly, so John could barely hear it. "And you didn't tell me."

Dean wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders, shooting an irritated glare at his father across the table, and John was taken aback. What had he done for Dean to show that kind of disrespect? Maybe they didn't remember how things worked around here- after all, he had been gone a long time. But Dean had to understand his motivations in not telling Sammy. The boy was a danger to himself and others.

"Well," Dean said, looking distinctly uncomfortable, "a bunch of those special children, Sammy included, were kidnapped and taken to this place called Cold Oak where they were supposed to..."

"Fight," Sam interjected. "To the death. There was this guy named Andy we'd met before, and he could broadcast thoughts, put images in people's heads, so he sent Dean a vision of where we were. But before he could get there, a girl named Ava killed off the others and then died herself so it was only me and a soldier named Jake."

He swallowed uncomfortably. "And he killed me."

He looked expectantly at Dean, while John's head was reeling. How was Sam alive?

Dean sighed, chewing on his lower lip. "Three days. He was dead... three days before I cracked. I went to the crossroads."

"You made a deal?" John demanded, horrified but not all that surprised, already doing the math. Standard deal was ten years, and how long did they say it had been, eight? Nine? Dean must be running low on time. "How much time do you have left?" And why would you sell yourself for your tainted brother? he thought but didn't say. You're the good one, the pure one.

Sam shook for a moment when the thought crossed his mind and shied away from him, and for a hysterical moment he wondered if Sam could hear his thoughts.

"Dad," his younger son said in a low voice. "Dean didn't get ten years. He only got one."

John did a double take. Dean's face was shadowed and he couldn't meet his eyes. How did he get out of his deal? Unless...

"You went to Hell?"

Dean gave a short, curt nod. Sam sent him a sympathetic look, and John wondered how his tainted son could ever... how dare he. Dean had gone to Hell because of him. Sam could never understand how much his brother, the one that didn't belong in Hell, had sacrificed and suffered for him.

Sam stood and stalked out of the room. Dean sent a look after him, then frowned accusation at his father, as though Sam's mercurial moods were somehow his fault. After a long, awkward silence, he continued the story. John tried to keep his eyebrows from disappearing as Dean launched into a section about angels. Sure, he'd heard of them, but like unicorns and Bigfoot they were some of the myths that were just that- myths.

Dean talking about making his deal, killing the demon, chasing down another named Lilith who held the contract but getting dragged into Hell. He wouldn't say anything about what it was down there despite John's cajoling, or how long he was there, just looked away in something like shame. He mentioned the angels and said that Sam had gone 'off the rails' while he was 'downstairs,' but wouldn't give any details, which worried John. What had Sam done that was so bad his elder son couldn't even talk about it? He added it to the swiftly growing list of things to confront Sam about.

Dean told him about hunting the demon, Lilith, who was steadily breaking the seals to free Lucifer from Hell, and she eventually succeeded, though Sam apparently killed her in the process. His face went dark as he described the Apocalypse- hunting for the Four Horsemen as the devil laid waste to the world. He gave Sam credit for stopping it, though John thought that couldn't be right. Talked about Purgatory, monsters John had never heard of called Leviathan and Eve. Told him about those lost in the fight, Bobby Singer and the Harvelles.

There were holes in the story, John could tell. He wouldn't give any details about how the Apocalypse had been started or ended, wouldn't say what exactly had happened to Sam when he was alone, refused to talk about Hell, and John wondered what could have made his son distrust him so much.

They gave him a vacant room, and John tried not to notice that it was about as far away from Sam's as possible. The message there was clear, and as he fell asleep he wondered when his sons had drifted so far away.


	2. Chapter 2

**The next chapter will probably be the last one, yay! I would've made this part longer, but I hit a good stopping place and wanted to save some stuff for part three, so enjoy!**

It's three days before John can track Sam down and get him alone. The boy's been avoiding him skillfully since his... return, ducking out of rooms just as John entered and spending hours locked in his room with piles of books.

John wonders if Sam is trying to find a spell to send him back.

In between, he spends the hours exploring the bunker (he can tell his boys have gotten comfortable here, made a home, but it's not safe staying in one place and they'll have to leave soon) and talking to Dean, who's at least willing to talk to him, even if he seems uncomfortable and stilted, sometimes censoring himself a moment after he starts to speak and John wonders when he lost Dean's trust.

Sometimes the so-called angel pops in, Castiel. John watches him out of the corner of his eye and hates the ease with which the creature interacts with his son, the easy flow of words and movements that Dean seems incapable of when it comes to his own father. John hates the angel for that. It's taken his son from him, and he can't believe Dean can't see the creature is playing a long con. He raised them better than that. If it's supernatural, it's evil, and if it's evil, you kill it, but somehow this thing had wormed its way into Dean's trust and even affections as surely as John was pushed out.

But then, Dean hadn't killed Sam, either. He'd gone against orders.

When he did finally manage to corner Sam, it was only because the younger man, neck-deep in researching some unspecified threat, had forgotten to lock his door, and John wondered how he had reached the point that his own son felt the need to lock his door against him. The moment he stepped inside the door, completely silently, Sammy's head jerked up and his son fixed him with an unreadable expression, staring for a moment before lowering his head again.

"Dad. Hi," he said in a flat voice, completely unenthusiastic, and John's heart sank a bit.

"Son," he replied in greeting, sliding further into the room slowly and cautiously, the one might approach a wounded wild animal that might snap at you in its pain and fear. He closed the door behind him and something like fear might have flashed across Sam's expression before it was replaced with exhaustion.

"Are you gonna kill me, Dad? Because that's not gonna work out," he said, turning back to his book and flipping the page.

John was speechless for a moment at the bitterness in his son's voice, at the immediate assumption that seeking his son out meant he intended to kill him. "No."

Even as he said it he realized he wasn't sure if it was true. If Sam was a danger, he'd have to be put down. That was just the way it worked in this family. But he'd have to judge that for himself before he made any kind of decision.

"So," Sam said, taking a note of some obscure sigil John had never seen before. He peered over his son's shoulder to see the words at the top of the ancient, leathery page, only to find with some consternation that he couldn't. Sam was now actually taller than him, which made him feel more insecure than he'd like to admit. Maybe the demon blood had bolstered his growth.

"What're you doing there, Sammy?"

"Sam," his son corrected automatically. "Looking at angel warding."

John couldn't help the snort of derision that escaped him at the matter-of-fact way his son talked about angels, of all things. He could understand Dean being fooled by all of this, but Sam? You could say what you wanted about the demonic taint, but Sam was the smarter one, always had been. Sam looked up at him sharply.

"Something funny?"

"It's this whole angel thing, Sammy-"

"Sam," the younger man corrected again.

"-you don't really buy into it, do you?"

"Be hard not to, at this point."

John blinked and frowned at his son, waiting for him to elaborate, but no explanation was forthcoming. "Why not?"

Sam smirked bitterly and tapped a finger against his temple. "Well, for one, I had one up in here for a while. The worst one."

John frowned. The worst angel? How bad could an angel possibly be? They were all harps and clouds and Hallmark cards, all except for-

Except for-

Oh.

No.

Sam...

He wasn't sure what to say if Sam was implying what he thought he was, and he wasn't quite prepared to deal with the implications, so he muttered something along the lines of 'good talk' and blundered out of the room, not entirely sure where he was going, only thinking he had to get away. He wondered when hunting things and saving people had reached these heights. All of a sudden he wasn't so sure he wanted to know everything that had happened since his... departure after all.

And he couldn't stop the little vindictive voice inside of him that crowed in triumph because he was right, Sam had come out bad, had ever since that demon had stood over his crib and bled into his infant mouth while Mary burned on the ceiling, and now some thirty years later and Sam had apparently been hearing Satan in his head. John couldn't understand how Dean had let that happen, how he was still hunting with his brother after something of that magnitude. Maybe he didn't know. His elder son had proven himself more than willing to turn a blind eye when it came to his brother and his tainted blood, considering he hadn't followed orders and just killed the kid when it became clear he couldn't be saved.

Save him or kill him. Those were the orders, and it seemed like Sam had definitely not been saved, what with the references to Satan and what might be psychic abilities. He frowned and shook his head. He had to have a talk with Dean.

He couldn't find Dean. It seemed that his sons were only elusive when he actually wanted to find them; first Sam, camping out in his room, now Dean, who was apparently out on a hunt. He'd just about exploded when Sam calmly informed him he'd sent Dean off with no backup. He'd trained them to watch each other's backs, after all. And on a demon hunt, no less, and Dean had gone off with nothing but the weird four-sided sword he'd been playing with earlier as though demons weren't some of the scariest sumbitches the Winchesters had ever faced.

He was sitting in the library, surveying the books, when a sound of flapping wings had him on his feet and reaching for a gun before he remembered that he didn't have one. His sons had danced around the topic, insisting he wouldn't need one because 'the bunker was safe,' though he had a horrible feeling that it was really because they didn't trust him. So, instead, he had to settle for throwing a fierce glare at the so-called angel (who looked more like a perpetually confused tax lawyer, honestly, this was an angel?) who had suddenly materialized out of midair.

"John Winchester," the thing said, its voice still painfully rough. "I see you are well. Is Dean nearby?" he asked.

"Why would I tell you?" he challenged, and the thing cocked its head to one side in a strangely birdlike gesture. John stalked forward until he was nose to nose with the creature.

"Look, you may have the boys fooled, thinking you're some kind of angel, but I know better. No such thing. So what are you and what do you want with my boys?" he demanded, jabbing a finger into the thing's chest and almost breaking it.

"I do not understand... I am an angel of the lord."

At this point, a human would have taken a step back, or at least flinched, but whatever it was it stood there as solid as a statue. "You can stop playing your games. I don't know what you are, but you're sure as hell no angel."

"I can assure you that I am."

"Then why do you look like an alcoholic lawyer?" he questioned, something that had been at the forefront of his mind since being introduced to the creature. It didn't even have wings and it expected him to believe it was an angel? Though the ruse had apparently worked just fine on his boys.

The thing glanced down at itself for a moment, as though it had forgotten what it looked like. "This is a vessel. My true form would cause your eardrums to explode and your eyes to burn out of your skull."

"You're possessing someone," John said flatly. Like a demon, he added mentally, and he wondered how the hell his boys could be okay with this aspect of their new monster friend.

"Jimmy Novak," the creature agreed with a nod. "He had a wife named Amelia and a daughter named Claire. He was a devout man and prayed to be of service to the Lord."

The thing paused and then added, "He had quite an appetite for red meat."

"And how does Jimmy feel about all this?"

The creature looked sad for a moment. "His soul no longer inhabits this vessel. He moved on to heaven when this body was torn apart at the subatomic level by the power of an archangel."

John wasn't sure what to say to that, so he made a noise that sounded something like 'hunh' and walked away, maybe stomping a bit harder than was necessary. He needed to talk to Dean.


	3. Chapter 3

John almost startled out of his seat when the metal door slammed open and then shut again and Dean stormed down the stairs, scowling and covered from head to toe in some black viscous fluid. Sam, who had appeared out of nowhere, seemed to recognize it, because he frowned.

"Leviathans?" he asked. "I thought it was just demons." Just demons? At what point had his sons been so desensitized that demons had become what sounded like a mere annoyance?

Dean gave him a death glare. "Yeah, me too, that's why I didn't bring Borax! And of course the angel blade doesn't work on them, so I had to go at it the old-fashioned way," he grumbled, holding up a broken machete covered in more of the black goop.

"The heads?" Sam asked, seeming absolutely unfazed, as though this was just a normal conversation that they'd had before.

"In the trunk," Dean grunted, already stripping off his ruined leather jacket and frowning at it. "Ah, man, I liked this jacket!"

"I'll take care of them," Sam said, climbing the winding staircase up to the door. "You get cleaned up."

Dean nodded and headed off, grumbling something about cockroaches that wouldn't stay dead, leaving John to gape after his sons, feeling more than a little left out and bewildered. He thought Dean had mentioned Leviathans during his lengthy story his first day back, but honestly he hadn't heard anything more then their names and the fact that they were from Purgatory.

With nothing else to do, he was still sitting there a half hour later when Dean stumbled back out in clean clothes (relatively speaking), drying his hair with a towel and loudly mourning his jacket and machete, although his mouth snapped shut when his eyes brushed over his father.

"Hey, Dad," he said, looking slightly uncomfortable, and John wondered just when that had happened. Dean was his boy, the good one, his loyal and dedicated soldier, the respectful one who took after his old man, who trusted him. When had that changed?

"Dean," he said. "We need to talk."

Dean immediately took a seat with the military obedience that John had instilled in him, face still twisted in unease. Well, too bad. Things had clearly gone off the rails here since he'd been gone. Working together with monsters, disobeying orders, rampant disrespect, weakness, making themselves vulnerable by settling into one place... there was a lot of work to be done, and if anyone would understand that, it would be Dean.

"This... angel," John started, hesitant to refer to the thing as anything other than a monster, "Castiel."

Dean immediately looked defensive. "What about him?"

"It has to go," John said, his voice firm and brooking no room for argument. This was for Dean's own good. His son, of all people, had to understand that. Supernatural beings were dangerous, deadly, and not to be trusted. That was a lesson he had hammered into Dean's head again and again growing up.

"No," Dean said as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "No!"

"This is not up for debate, son," John stated firmly. "That's an order. The angel is a supernatural creature. A monster. I raised you better than this."

"Cas is my best friend, Dad. If it wasn't for him, I'd still be on Alistair's Rock in Hell! I'm not sending him away because of your prejudice!"

Joh narrowed his eyes. "I didn't mean sending it away, Dean, I meant killing it." He shook his head in exasperation. "It's using you, Dean! That's all they do. That's all they ever do. How far you've fallen... you can't even see your own brother has turned into a-"

A flare of pain shot through his mind and he stumbled backwards, cupping his bleeding and probably broken nose in his hands while Dean shook out his hand. "How dare you," his son said, voice dangerously low. "How dare you? You know NOTHING about what we've been through! You son of a bitch. You think you just can come back here and be our boss again? Our drill sergeant?"

John stood there in shock as Dean pinned him to the wall with a heavy forearm. "You know what, Dad? You were never our Dad. You were our captain. Bobby was our dad more than you ever were. So you have no right to just barge in here and start giving orders, telling me to get rid of Cas, calling Sammy a monster- and don't you DARE deny it!- trying to get me to be your good little soldier again? Well, guess what, Dad? Sam and I? We're better hunters than you ever were. Got that? We. Don't. Need. You."

John heard the door open and close and incoming footsteps. "Dean?" came Sam's uncertain voice and Dean cursed under his breath, relaxing his hold slightly.

"Just a friendly family meeting, Sammy!" he called with forced lightness in his voice. "Nothing to be concerned about. Hey, keep looking into that warding, would ya?"

"...okay, Dean," Sam replied, and there was the sound of receding footsteps and then a closing door.

"You're fucking lucky," Dean hissed, "that I don't want him to know what you think of him. So listen real close. You're going to go silently to your room and pack, with me watching, and then you're going to leave and never come back. You got that?"

John nodded numbly, unable to speak with Dean's arm cutting off his oxygen supply, and gasped for air when the barrier was pulled away, still silenced by his son's deadly glare, and in shock, he packed what few belongings he had and left.

His son's condemning gaze seemed to stare after him long after he was gone, and John wondered just when he had gone so wrong.

He kept tabs on them. Of course, it was difficult reestablishing contact with old friends and acquaintances considering he'd been dead for almost a decade (he was still having trouble coming to terms with that) but as it turned out, all he'd had to do was mention that he was a Winchester and they more or less shrugged. His boys had made quite a name for themselves, apparently. He got back to hunting, solo, keeping one eye on the hunt and one on his boys.

About a month after striking out on his own, he saw them in a diner when he was investigating a vampire nest in Ohio. Dean had a bacon burger and a slice of apple pie, while Sam worked his way through an elaborate salad and bitched about his brother's choice of meal. Dean leaned over and ruffled his little brother's hair.

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

Dean glanced up and met John's eyes for a fraction of a second, and an understanding passed between them before Dean returned to playfully bickering with his brother, and John?

John watched his boys, smiled slightly to himself, and thought about redemption.

 **That's it! That's the end! Thank you so, so much to the following reviewers:**

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